


And Then I Met You

by fromhereonoutweneverfalter (orphan_account)



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, M/M, so i'm totally on board with aroace watney but this prompt was so cute i couldn't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fromhereonoutweneverfalter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Beck/Watney flower shop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then I Met You

The store's quiet and empty but for one man in aisle two. Chris watches from the register and taps a finger absently.

 

 

 

The man leans and smells each flower individually. Weird guy. But handsome. Tall and messy-haired, cute in that not-even-trying kind of way. He makes his way to the head of the aisle, looks at Chris and says, "Hey."

 

 

 

"Hi," Chris replies, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow.

 

 

 

"Busy today, huh?" he says. He looks around at the deserted store with a grin.

 

 

 

Chris laughs a little and tilts his head to the side. "Ha. Well, this is how it is most days. Don't know how we're still in business."

 

 

 

The man frowns. "Really?"

 

 

 

"Yeah," Chris says. "Pretty sure we'll be foreclosing soon."

 

 

 

"Not if I have anything to do with it," the man declares. He darts back into aisle two, collects flowers and complete bouquets, and dumps what looks like half the aisle’s contents on the counter.

 

 

 

"You want all this?"

 

 

 

The man nods.

 

 

 

Chris bites back a smile and rings up the huge pile. "Your total is 227 dollars and 95 cents."

 

 

 

"Thanks," the man says, after swiping his credit card. "You working here tomorrow?"

 

 

 

"Yeah, wh-"

 

 

 

"I'll see you then. Five o’clock." He picks up the flowers, leaves with a smile. Chris stands at the register, staring after the man with an expression of bewilderment, and later, as he's closing up shop, he finds a single rose tucked into the door handle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next day, as promised, the man shows again. This time he buys nearly all of aisle one, and proceeds to stride to the counter and give Chris a wave.

 

 

 

"Hey, Chris."

 

 

 

"You know my name how?"

 

 

 

"Your nametag."

 

 

 

Chris looks down at it and smiles sheepishly. "Right. You're...?"

 

 

 

"Mark," says the man, and it fits him. Mark. Chris puts the name with the face, sorts it with the people he knows he needs to remember. For some reason, he think this guy might turn out to be important. 

 

 

 

"Nice to meet you, Mark."

 

 

 

Mark beams and dumps his load on the counter, Chris checks him out, and then he leaves. Again, Chris finds a rose, this time hidden on the store side behind the register. He puts it in a vase when he gets home, along with the first one.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Hey, Mark," Chris says. "What's up?"

 

 

"Not much," Mark replies from aisle three. He's wearing a lanyard Chris can see tucked into his shirt, and a hat pulled over his eyes. He's got on exercise gear, and there's a gardening glove hanging from his jacket.

 

 

"I like your outfit." Chris nods towards his clothes, and Mark looks down at himself before laughing airily.

 

 

"I do look kinda ridiculous." He doesn't explain himself, just dumps his load on the counter and offers Chris his card.

 

 

"Are you... is there a reason you're dressed like that?" 

 

 

"Like what? A fucking boss?"

 

 

Chris can't help but snort. "Oh my God."

 

 

"Don't 'oh my God' me," Mark says. Chris can hear the smile in his voice without looking up. "In all seriousness, though, I don't think I look half bad."

 

 

"You don't," Chris says. He realizes what he's said a split second after Mark falls into an open-mouthed grin.

 

 

"You think I'm good-looking."

 

 

"I never said-"

 

 

"Yes, you did. You just implied it."

 

 

Chris averts his eyes and stumbles over his words. "Well, you- you think I'm good-looking too."

 

 

Mark grins, amused. He holds the flowers in his arms and starts to back away. "What makes you say that?" 

 

 

"You're coming here for a reason."

 

 

"Oh, man," Mark says, laughing. "I'm sorry. I really only come for the flowers." 

 

 

Chris rolls his eyes, still feeling a tinge of embarrassment but overcome by the easiness of their conversation, by how comfortable being with Mark feels. "You're the worst," he yells.

 

 

Turning around, Mark says, "Back at you! See you tomorrow, Christopher." 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Mark comes at five o’clock the next day, goes straight for Chris, and asks if he’s ever watched Wall-E.

 

 

 

Chris, who up until now hasn’t been able to keep from falling asleep, stands up in surprise, and says, “Don’t think so.”

 

 

 

“How have you never seen Wall-E?”

 

 

 

“I don’t know. You’re the one who asked.”

 

 

 

“Up?”

 

 

 

“No.”

 

 

 

“Finding Nemo? Please tell me you’ve watched Finding Nemo.”

 

 

 

“Actually, I-“

 

 

 

“Holy fuck, Chris. Have you seen any Pixar movies?”

 

 

 

“I don’t- I don’t know. Why?”

 

 

 

“My friend and I just marathoned five—no, six, I think—six Pixar movies back-to-back.”

 

 

 

Chris furrows his brow. “Aren’t you tired?”

 

 

 

“Never tired of Pixar,” he says, running a hand through his hair and yawning. “Anyway, Wall-E’s a great movie. You should watch it.”

 

 

 

“Robots falling in love, right?”

 

 

 

“It’s so much more than that!” Mark exclaims, practically throwing himself on the counter. “It’s a story about humanity and perseverance and hope, and it’s set in the future, like-”

 

 

 

“So the robots don’t fall in love?”

 

 

 

“Well, yeah, that happens too.”

 

 

 

Chris clasps his hands together. “I’ll give it a shot.”

 

 

 

Mark’s face erupts in a smile, and Chris feels himself go red. If Mark sees Chris blush, he shows no sign of it. Instead, his phone dings, and he pulls it out and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”

 

 

 

“Everything okay?” Chris asks.

 

 

 

Mark frowns. “No, I, uh… something came up. Thought I had the day off but… guess not.” He makes a series of frustrated noises, mutters, “Fuck this,” then glances at Chris and explains, “So they told us we’d have today off, this was our promised day off, and I just got a text that they’ve scheduled a meeting for five-thirty.”

 

 

 

“That’s fucked up,” Chris says.

 

 

 

Mark nods. “Right? Okay, hang on.” He goes and returns with arms full of bouquets, and Chris rings him up.

 

 

 

After Mark’s swiped his card, he says, “Thanks for the flowers, Christopher.”

 

 

 

“No problem,” Chris replies, still struggling to figure out what about this guy has him so head-over-heels butterflies-in-stomach nervous. “Good luck at your meeting.”

 

 

 

Mark scoffs and throws his head back as he takes the flowers. “Yeah. Fuck me, honestly.” He turns to go, and when he’s almost to the door he faces Chris and says, “When’s your shift over?”

 

 

 

“Eight-thirty.”

 

 

 

“Holy shit. And it starts when?”

 

 

 

“One.”

 

 

 

Mark’s eyes widen. “Oh. That’s a, uh, a really long time to be working a flower shop. Hope the rest of your shift’s not too boring.”

 

 

Chris grimaces. “It will be.”

 

 

“Wish I could stay longer, but, you know-“ Mark wags his phone- “duty calls.”

 

 

"It's all good. See you tomorrow?"

 

 

"You can count on it." 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What do you do with all these flowers?” Chris asks Mark, after a particularly large purchase.

 

 

 

“I give them to my legions of one-night stands.”

 

 

 

Chris isn’t sure whether or not Mark’s kidding, so he waits for Mark to look up from his phone. When he does, he laughs, seeing Chris’s confused look. “I was kidding, man. I keep them,” he says, pushing the phone down in his back pocket (not before Chris can see the NASA logo stamped on the back) and gripping the counter’s edge.

 

 

 

“Where?”

 

 

 

“In my house.”

 

 

 

Chris cocks his head. “That’s, um, a lot of flowers to keep in your house.”

 

 

 

Mark nods, eyes twinkling with humor. “Yeah, they take up a lot of room. I’ve actually been sleeping on the back porch.”

 

 

 

Chris laughs and asks, not looking up from the register, “Do you really need them for anything?”

 

 

 

“No,” Mark says. “I just like coming here.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Good afternoon, Christopher," Mark says, at the door. He walks to the counter, opens his mouth to say something but ends up yawning. "Sorry, I'm exhausted. How are things?"

 

 

 

Chris, trying to pretend he hasn't been waiting for Mark to show up all day, bites the inside of his cheek and leans against the register. "Good. You?"

 

 

 

"Pretty good," Mark says. "Better, now that I'm here." The last part's tacked on like an afterthought, and Chris's heart threatens to break free and fly away.

 

 

 

"We got a new shipment of daisies. Um, aisle four," Chris fumbles. That's all he can think to say.

 

 

 

Mark yawns again, holds up a finger, then shakes his head. "For fuck's sake. My bad. I'm about to fall asleep standing up. Aisle four, you said?"

 

 

 

Chris nods and points, but Mark doesn't follow his finger. Instead, Mark climbs the counter and sits legs crossed, leaning against the wall. "Tell me about yourself, Christopher."

 

 

 

Chris knows he should tell Mark to get down, but he can't. He looks Mark over, takes in the bags under his eyes and the way his body’s slumped forward, the dirt caked under his fingernails and how his hair’s in sweaty tangles. He pulls his eyes away and studies his own hands. "Not much to tell," he says.

 

 

 

Mark shakes his head. "Wrong answer."

 

 

 

Chris rubs his face and shrugs. "I don't know. I'm Chris. I work in a flower shop. I... I don't know. I've got a cat?"

 

 

 

Mark perks up. "A cat! I love cats. What's its name?"

 

 

 

"Well, I, uh, my mom named her. So... God, it's awful. Katy Purry."

 

 

 

Mark laughs, and the sound makes Chris feel warm and fuzzy, his insides turning to mush. "That's the best thing I've heard all week." Mark checks his watch and sighs, hops down from the counter. "Gotta go. Let me... aisle four, right? Yeah, aisle four. One minute."

 

 

 

Chris hears Mark's phone ring, and he tries not to eavesdrop but can't help himself. Mark says, "Hi." There's a silence, then a laugh, then a light-hearted, "Fuck off."

 

 

 

Mark shows up at the counter, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, still talking. He places several batches of daisies on the counter.

 

 

 

Chris listens to Mark's side of the conversation as he rings up the flowers.

 

 

 

"Martinez, I'm this close to hanging up."

 

 

 

Mark laughs and makes a face. "You're the absolute worst person I've ever met."

 

 

 

"No! What the hell?"

 

 

 

"I'm actually single-handedly saving a flower shop from going out of business. What could you possibly be doing that's more noble?"

 

 

 

"What a hero. I'm sure the people you keep running into trying to catch Pokémon really appreciate you."

 

 

 

"Team Instinct, baby."

 

 

 

"Yeah, well tell her I said I'll deal with her later."

 

 

 

"Martinez, please go the fuck away."

 

 

 

Mark says, "I'm sorry," to Chris, then rolls his eyes at something someone on the other end said. "Why does it matter? Are you jealous?"

 

 

 

"I happen to have lots of friends you don't know about, hot shot."

 

 

 

"Oh my God, you're ridiculous."

 

 

 

"No, I'm not letting you talk to him!"

 

 

 

"Because he's super cool, and I don't want to subject him to a conversation with you."

 

 

 

"Chris."

 

 

 

"Maybe."

 

 

 

"I get around."

 

 

 

"Are you on your way?"

 

 

 

"About to go, I'll meet you there in twenty."

 

 

 

"Sorry! Forgot we had a session. Just tell her it won't happen again. And tell Vogel I got that ointment he asked for from CVS."

 

 

 

"Dead serious. Please tell him in front of the whole crew. I've yet to succeed in embarrassing him, and this is my chance."

 

 

 

"I'm going! Jeez."

 

 

 

Mark hangs up the phone, smirking. He groans and says, "Sorry. Guy's a weirdo. Not even sure who he is, to be quite honest with you."

 

 

 

Chris bags the flowers and decides he might as well ask. “Someone you work with?”

 

 

 

“Yep,” Mark says, offering no further elaboration. Chris considers prompting, asking more about Mark’s work, but remembering how he said he had to go decides against it.

 

 

 

Mark swipes his card and hoists the daisies from the counter, gives Chris a nod, and says, "See you tomorrow, Christopher."

 

 

 

Chris finds a rose that night tucked into his coat pocket.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Mark shows up again the next day, five o'clock, same as always. He's checking out a new batch of flowers when suddenly he turns around and his eyes are panicked. "Oh no, that's my ex."

 

 

 

Chris looks and tries to see if there's even anyone there but Mark runs and hides behind the counter, so he's distracted. "Mind if I hide here for just a second?"

 

 

 

Chris furrows his brow and looks back at the store, and as he does so Mark stands. There's no one there. "Mark, the store's empty."

 

 

 

"I know," Mark says, "Just wanted to get close to you."

 

 

 

Chris flushes red, and Mark huffs out a laugh, standing close enough Chris can almost feel it.

 

 

 

"Oh, and here's a rose." Mark pulls a rose from behind his back and hands it off, before going back around the counter, checking out, and leaving.

 

 

 

Chris stands dumbfounded and flustered at the counter, and when another customer comes in an hour later he's still smiling, skin colored crimson.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Lets play the question game," Mark says from his counter perch.

 

 

"Okay."

 

 

"Favorite color?"

 

 

Chris plops a gummy bear on his tongue and says through it, "Blue."

 

 

"Mine's green." Mark strokes his chin, considering what to ask next. "Hometown?"

 

 

"I'm from here."

 

 

"Chicago. Favorite food?" 

 

 

"Tuna Casserole."

 

 

"Ugh. That's like," Mark says, "Satan's food."

 

 

"Your opinion."

 

 

"It's a fact. My favorite's pizza. We'll go with pizza. Favorite... uh, TV series?"

 

 

"That's tough. I... um... I like Parks and Rec, I guess."

 

 

"Good show. Mine's The X Files."

 

 

Beck frowns. "Never could get into that."

 

 

Mark sticks his tongue out at him, then says, "Okay, tough questions now, if you were trapped on a deserted island and could only bring three things, what would you bring?" 

 

 

"Oh... my phone, right? My phone, my... favorite book, and maybe, uh, a pack of water bottles."

 

 

Mark nods, looks off like he's lost in thought. "See, that question's not fair, because things is such a broad term, you know? But logically speaking, I'd bring a survival kit, one of the ones with water cleaner and packs of food. And then... a satellite phone and a working GPS. That's the best bet, I think. Unless we're talking, like, what I'd bring unrelated to survival which is a different answer altogether, but-" he sees Chris looking and stops mid-sentence. "Sorry, got carried away. Uh, favorite animal?"

 

 

"You're gonna call me weird, but... I really like frogs." 

 

 

Mark raises an eyebrow and smirks. "I am gonna call you weird. Why the fuck is your favorite animal a frog?"

 

 

Chris shrinks down and pretends to hide behind his hands. "They're really cute, okay?"

 

 

"Not as cute as you," Mark says.

 

 

Chris opens his fingers and peers at Mark through the gaps. "Sorry?"

 

 

"Didn't say anything."

 

 

"I heard something."

 

 

"Ever been out of the country?"

 

 

"Went to England with my family in third grade. You?"

 

 

"I've- yeah. I've been all over. Have you ever... what's the most embarrassing thing you did as a kid?"

 

 

"I have the memory of a goldfish. Let me think... I... well, once I peed on my friend, Sarah."

 

 

Mark choked on his gummy bear. "Holy shit."

 

 

"Yeah, let's just move on. What's yours?"

 

 

"Um, so, when I was maybe five my mom signed me up for Zoo Camp, and they, like, let us touch and play with some of the animals. Long story short, I stole a baby penguin and-"

 

 

"You stole a penguin?"

 

 

Mark rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I... I did."

 

 

"Is it okay?"

 

 

"Oh, definitely, yeah. I don't think I could live with myself knowing I'd hurt a penguin. It was in one of those crate thing-ys, and they caught me before I could get too far, so all was well."'

 

 

"That's awful."

 

 

"Hey, you pissed on a girl."

 

 

Chris purses his lips. "Guess that's true. I've got a question."

 

 

"Shoot."

 

 

"Favorite class when you were in school?"

 

 

"What a nerdy question. Like high-school or college?"

 

 

"Either one."

 

 

"Let's just go with science. Basically my major anyway. You answer."

 

 

"I liked science, too. Another question: why do you come here everyday? I mean, to this flower-shop of all places." 

 

 

"Told you I like it here."

 

 

"But do you like me?"

 

 

Mark hops down from the counter, hands Chris a twenty and says, "I'll get back to you on that."

 

 

He's out the door.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"If you're here, who's running heaven?"

 

 

Chris puffs air through his nose and shakes his head.

 

 

"Oh, I've got another one, if I were a stop light, I'd turn red everytime you passed by, just so I could stare at you a bit longer."

 

 

"Are you reading these off your phone?" Chris asks, leaning over the counter to see. 

 

 

Mark pulls his phone closer and keeps scrolling. "Where do you hide your halo?"

 

 

"Mark, this is getting ridiculous."

 

 

"And yet, you're still bright red." Mark says, hardly looking up.

 

 

Chris groans.

 

 

"Do you have a bandaid? Because I just scraped my knees falling for you." 

 

 

"How many of these are there?"

 

 

"Oh, a good few hundred."

 

 

"For fuck's sake."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Mark comes in the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. Five o'clock. Their conversations are short, too short for Chris, who wants to get to know this guy more than anything. He lives a boring, simple life, working in the shop for a lengthy afternoon shift and spending his mornings eating and reading and not doing anything else, really. Mark is interesting, exciting, makes Chris feel something he hasn't felt in a long time.

 

 

 

But every day, Mark shows without fail, buying as much as he can before going off who knows where. He flirts, too. Chris, being Chris, doesn't know how to flirt back, but still he enjoys the cheesy pick-up lines and the ploys and the roses.

 

 

 

Mark asks Chris one day to tell him the names of each flower. So Chris goes through and does, and continues to for several weeks, until one day he asks, "What do you do for a living?"

 

 

 

Mark pauses. "Actually, I'm, uh, a botanist."

 

 

 

"Wow, I- wait, so this whole time you knew the plants-"

 

 

 

"What can I say?" Mark says, from aisle three where he's picking out a fresh bouquet. "I like the sound of your voice."

 

 

 

He checks out, and as soon as he's done, he hands the flowers to Chris.

 

 

 

"You just bought them," Chris says, oblivious.

 

 

 

"I did." Mark nods. "Now I'm giving them to you."

 

 

 

Chris grabs them, trying not to blush, and Mark leaves. That night, Chris takes the flowers home and sets them up in a vase on his bedside table.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He works up the nerve to flirt back, to maybe possibly ask Mark out, the next day. His shift is long and boring and he checks the time obsessively. Five can't come fast enough.

 

 

 

At 4:59 Chris starts feeling a little anxious. He bounces on the balls of his feet and checks his watch again. 5:00. He looks up and Mark's still not there.

 

 

 

5:01. The store's empty.

 

 

 

5:02. No sign of Mark. Chris almost feels worried. He pulls out his phone to send Mark a text before remembering they haven't exchanged numbers.

 

 

 

5:03. 5:05. 5:09. Mark's clearly not showing.

 

 

 

Chris deflates and the rest of his shift is boring as could be. No other customers. He closes up early, at 7:30, and goes home.

 

 

 

No sign of Mark the next day, or the next.

 

 

 

Chris regrets never having asked for his number, never having asked for his last name, even. He worries, too. Checks the news for any mention of what might've happened. Eventually, Chris resigns to the fact that Mark has a life outside of the flower shop, maybe Mark never actually liked him to begin with, and maybe they'll never see each other again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's a Saturday and Chris sees on the wall clock it's five pm. Enough five o'clocks have passed now that he doesn't feel that sense of excitement and he doesn't so much as glance at the door, because Mark hasn't showed for a week, so why should he show now?

 

 

 

Then the bell rings, and Chris's head shoots up, and there in all his glory is Mark, holding a flower bouquet and making his way to the register.

 

 

 

"Hey, Chris," he says cheerfully, as though nothing's happened.

 

 

 

Chris tries not to seem overexcited, forces himself to scowl. "Where've you been?"

 

 

 

Mark smirks. "Oh, were you worried?"

 

 

 

"I- I wasn't-"

 

 

 

"You were worried about me!" Mark exclaims. He laughs and sets the bouquet down on the counter, then hikes himself up so he's sitting cross-legged facing Chris.

 

 

 

"Off the counter."

 

 

 

Mark blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

 

 

 

"You heard me. Off the counter."

 

 

 

"So you're pissed, too?"

 

 

 

"Well, you didn't show for two weeks, Mark. You're- never mind. You should've warned me or something."

 

 

 

"Something came up." Mark looks down at the bouquet. "Look, I'm sorry. Here, I brought you these."

 

 

 

Chris looks from the flowers to Mark. "You didn't get those here. Where'd you get them?"

 

 

 

"Um, Target, I believe."

 

 

 

"So you've been cheating on me? Buying flowers from some other boy?"

 

 

 

Mark's eyes widen. "No- I- uh-" he stops when he sees Chris's amused grin. "Very funny. Take 'em."

 

 

 

Chris takes the bouquet and holds it to his chest. "Thanks."

 

 

 

"No problem."

 

 

 

"So," Chris says. "What came up?"

 

 

 

Mark rocks back and seems to consider him, eyes narrow, lips pressed together tight. "What's your last name, Chris?"

 

 

 

"My last name?" Chris says, feeling wary. "It's... Beck. Why?"

 

 

 

"Mine's Watney. Mark Watney," Mark says.

 

 

 

"Mark, what's-"

 

 

 

"Just wanna get to know you, that's all."

 

 

 

Chris cocks his head, starts to open his mouth, but Mark startles him, leaning forward and pecking him lightly on the cheek before hopping down. He slams a wad of cash on the countertop. "Don't need any more flowers. Just take the money, keep the store up and running. I'll be back tomorrow."

 

 

 

"I can't accept this."

 

 

 

"You can and will. See you tomorrow, Christopher Beck."

 

 

 

After Mark leaves, Chris finds a slip of paper in the wad of cash. Scrawled on it in purple sharpie, a phone number.

 

 

 

He doesn't text it that night. He stares at his phone screen for hours but can't think of anything to say.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next day, Mark doesn't mention it. He strolls in, takes a seat on the counter, and wiggles his eyebrows. "You miss me?"

 

 

 

"You-" Chris points- "irritate me."

 

 

 

"I irritate you?"

 

 

 

"You won't tell me what came up! Why didn't you come for two weeks?"

 

 

 

Mark sighs. His brow furrows and he tries to lean in, tries to flirt his way out of it, but Chris simply takes a step back and crosses his arms. "For fuck's sake, Chris, I have a life, you know."

 

 

 

Chris raises an eyebrow.

 

 

 

"Nothing against you. I'm just a busy guy."

 

 

 

"Lots of friends?"

 

 

 

"I don't know if I'd say lots, but... enough."

 

 

 

Chris waits for Mark to say something else but he doesn't. 

 

 

 

Chris isn't and has never been very good with guys. Very good with people in general, really. He's awkward and clingy and that's why he tends to keep to himself. So he tries to dial back on the clingy and seem more carefree, but with Mark it's twice as hard. Mark's more interesting than anyone Chris has ever known.

 

 

 

"What could've kept you busy for two weeks?"

 

 

 

Mark groans. "Just forget about it, okay?"

 

 

 

"Alright. I'll forget about it, as soon as you get your ass off my counter."

 

 

 

"Now that's not fair."

 

 

 

"Oh, I think it is. Off."

 

 

 

"Fine!" Mark shouts, arms up in surrender. "I'll tell you."

 

 

 

"Good," Chris says, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

 

 

"I might not have been totally honest with you."

 

 

 

"When?"

 

 

 

"Well, I... remember how I said I was a botanist?"

 

 

 

"Yeah. What about it?"

 

 

 

"Well, I- it's kinda true. I _am_ a botanist. But, I mean, that's only a small part of what I do." Mark pinches his fingers to represent small. "Technically, on an, um, bigger scale," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He seems worried, and it incites anxiety in Chris's chest. "I'm an astronaut."

 

 

 

"An astronaut?"

 

 

 

Mark nods.

 

 

 

Chris furrows his brow and sticks his hands down deep as they can go in his pockets. He's happy, on one hand, ecstatic. He knows an astronaut! His whole life, he's been interested in space. Never enough to stand a chance actually getting to go, but enough to appreciate it and crave the adventure within its depths. On another hand, he feels an imminent sense of dread. Having only known Mark a month or two, he shouldn't feel this attached, but he does. That's just Chris. So he fears having to let Mark go, and he fears losing him altogether. Not after they just met. Space isn't friendly, Chris knows that. It may be pretty and it may be home but it's the farthest thing from kind.

 

 

 

"Are you sure?" Chris mumbles.

 

 

 

"Pretty sure." Mark laughs.

 

 

 

"Because there aren't many astronauts and the chances that I'd meet one in my store are pretty slim and-"

 

 

 

"Chris," Mark interrupts. "I promise. I'm an astronaut."

 

 

 

Chris takes a deep breath. He clenches his fists tight as he can. "That's really cool, Mark."

 

 

 

Mark's eyes light up, like he's been waiting for Chris's seal of approval. Worry fades and his face morphs into that which resembles an excited five-year-old, his mouth wide in a grin. "Isn't it? I'm going to Mars!"

 

 

 

"Wait! Wait! Mars? I thought you were just as ISS guy, or something, but Mars?"

 

 

 

The excitement fades and again he looks like he's studying Chris, reading him, considering his options. "Yeah, I'm, uh... Ares 3."

 

 

 

"You're- holy shit, Mark! I don't know whether to be excited, or scared, or-"

 

 

 

"Excited." Mark nods. "Definitely excited."

 

 

 

"That's huge, Mark, really, but... I mean, how long does that last? How long will you be gone?"

 

 

 

"Well, about two years. 30 days on Mars, the rest of it's all space travel."

 

 

 

"Shit. Shit. Is that safe?"

 

 

 

"There've been two previous missions, so I'd say so." Mark's lips curl into a small curve. "Why? You worried about me?"

 

 

 

"Yes, I'm worried about you. Going to Mars. We just met!"

 

 

 

"And?"

 

 

 

"What do you mean, and?"

 

 

 

"What's it to you? Technically, I'm just a customer."

 

 

 

"You're... my friend."

 

 

 

"That all?"

 

 

 

"Yeah."

 

 

 

"Okay. I see how it is," Mark says. He gets down from the counter, leaves behind a large sum, and starts to walk off.

 

 

 

"Don't- Mark! Wait!"

 

 

 

Mark stops.

 

 

 

Chris leans forward and exhales. "I like you! Is that what you wanna hear? I like you a lot and I worry about you and I really, really want to get to know you. You're a bright spot in my day, and I look forward to seeing you from the moment I wake up every morning. I-"

 

 

 

"Chris," Mark says, turning. "Stop talking." He jogs back, climbs the counter, and spins himself so he's facing Chris. He grabs his shirt front and draws him in, kisses him lightly then pulls back and presses their foreheads together.

 

 

 

Chris laughs airily, and Mark wears a giddy smile. "See you tomorrow," Mark says.

 

 

 

Before Chris can react, grab Mark's arm and stop him, he's off the counter and out the door.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Chris texts Mark's number that night. A quick message, he just says: 'Hi'.

 

 

 

Five minutes later, his phone buzzes. 'Is this Chris?' the message reads.

 

 

 

'Yeah'.

 

 

 

'Hey! I love you so much! I'm actually texting you from the bathroom while I take a shit because that's how much I love you!'

 

 

 

Chris squints at the screen, cocks his head, and waits for something to happen. Mark calls a few minutes later, and Chris answers.

 

 

 

"Mark?"

 

 

 

"Hey, Chris. Sorry, I, uh, left my phone with Martinez."

 

 

 

In the background, Chris can hear some talking and laughing.

 

 

 

"Oh."

 

 

 

"He's a fifteen-year-old boy trapped in a grown man's body. And they're letting him go to space." 

 

 

 

A man who Chris suspects is Martinez yells, "They know what's up!"

 

 

 

Another voice, softer, shouts, "Put it on speaker!"

 

 

 

"No. No, no, no," Mark says.

 

 

 

"Come on, Watney!"

 

 

 

"Your crewmates?" Chris asks.

 

 

 

"Unfortunately," Mark says.

 

 

 

"I wouldn't, uh, mind talking to them," Chris says. He figures he should probably get to know these guys, anyway.

 

 

 

"I heard that!" Martinez yells. "Your boyfriend wants to talk to us, you should let him!"

 

 

 

"He's not my- never mind. You sure about this, Chris?"

 

 

 

Before Chris has time to answer, Martinez snatches the phone away and says, "Greetings. Martinez here."

 

 

 

The phone switches to speaker and everyone starts piping up.

 

 

 

"I'm Johanssen!"

 

 

 

"Vogel."

 

 

 

"Commander Lewis."

 

 

 

"Casal. Doctor."

 

 

 

The voice he recognizes as Lewis's says, "I apologize on behalf of my crew."

 

 

 

"It's okay." Chris laughs.

 

 

 

"So, Chris," Johanssen says, "Tell us about yourself."

 

 

 

"No pressure but we're in charge of his wellbeing and we've got to approve before you can go anywhere near him," says Casal.

 

 

 

From far off Mark shouts, "Don't listen to them!"

 

 

 

"Full name?" Martinez asks.

 

 

 

"Christopher Beck."

 

 

 

"Age."

 

 

 

"Um, 37."

 

 

 

"Place of birth?"

 

 

 

"Stop interrogating him," Lewis mumbles. "Sorry, Chris, they're-"

 

 

 

"Amazing and perfect in every way," Martinez interrupts. "Aw, thanks, Lewis."

 

 

 

"Oh my-"

 

 

 

"Hey, Chris!" Martinez says. "There's something you should know before you and Mark start doin-"

 

 

 

"No!" Mark's closer to the phone and he lifts it and steps away. "I'm so sorry, Chris. Hey, can we call it? I'll see you tomorrow."

 

 

 

"Sure. Yeah. Tomorrow."

 

 

 

"Can't wait."

 

 

 

On the other end, Mark's crewmates yell goodbyes and then the line cuts off.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Mark shows at five and sits, as usual, on the counter. He crosses his legs and gives Chris a smile. "Hi."

 

 

 

"Hey," Chris says. "I like your crewmates."

 

 

 

"Oh, God." Mark sighs. He rubs his temple. "I knew- I knew I shouldn't have given the phone to them."

 

 

 

Chris shakes his head. "No, it's fine! Seriously. They're cool."

 

 

 

"They're nerds," Mark says, laughing fondly. "And assholes. Love 'em to bits though."

 

 

 

"Ah," is all Chris can say. "So, um... Casal's the doctor? And Lewis is... commander, right?"

 

 

 

"Right, yeah. Uh, Casal's the doc and EVA specialist, Lewis is commander and, um, our geologist, Johanssen's sysop, Vogel's our chemist, Martinez is our pilot, and I'm botany and mechanical engineering."

 

 

 

"That's really cool."

 

 

 

"Yeah, but okay, look," Mark says, pulling a basket of snacks from behind his back. "I brought some snacks. I figured, since your shift's so long, you could probably use some snack food."

 

 

 

Chris beams. "Thanks. That's really thoughtful."

 

 

 

"I'm the thoughtfulest."

 

 

 

"Shut up."

 

 

 

"Oh, I will." Mark winks and leans forward, kisses Chris lightly. His hands are gentle and he folds one of his with Chris's after a few moments.

 

 

 

A customer decides to show up right at that moment, despite Mark being the only business the store's had in weeks, and when the bell rings Mark sits up and turns.

 

 

 

The woman in the doorway freezes, and Chris bites back a laugh.

 

 

 

"Hi," Mark says. He waves.

 

 

 

She takes a deep breath. "Hey?"

 

 

 

"Can I help you?"

 

 

 

Chris watches this unfold from behind the counter, too afraid to speak up.

 

 

 

"I, uh... I just need a bouquet for my daught- doesn't matter. Where... where could I find one?"

 

 

 

Mark wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and grins. "Fifth aisle's got the best bouquets."

 

 

 

"Oh- I- okay." She steps into the fifth aisle, flustered, and Mark smirks as he looks back at Chris.

 

 

 

"Woops."

 

 

 

"I could get fired, Mark."

 

 

 

"Please. Like I'd let that happen."

 

 

 

"You aren't my boss."

 

 

 

"Really?" Mark raises an eyebrow and kisses Chris's cheek, then his nose, then his lips.

 

 

 

The woman comes to the counter, averting her eyes, and Mark takes the bouquet from her and rings it up. "Your total is ten dollars and ninety-eight cents," Mark says.

 

 

 

She hands him her card, and before she leaves she manages to tell them, "Kissing on the job is very unprofessional."

 

 

 

Mark chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, I don't work here."

 

 

 

"You- you don't?"

 

 

 

"God, no. I'm just a customer."

 

 

 

Her eyes widen and Chris is again caught between laughing and hanging his head in embarrassment.

 

 

 

"I could have you fired," she says to Chris. She looks for his nametag but Mark leans over to block him.

 

 

 

"His name's Juliard McPickle the third," Mark says, matter-of-factly.

 

 

 

"Whatever," she says. "I'll just call whoever's in charge and tell-"

 

 

 

"You don't want to do that," Mark replies. "See, I'm going to Mars in a few months, and- what's your name, ma'am?"

 

 

 

"Martha Sloan."

 

 

 

"I can write 'Martha Sloan sucks' in Martian soil. Do you really want me to do that? It'll stay there forever."

 

 

 

"You're not going to Mars."

 

 

 

"Google Mark Watney, then we'll talk."

 

 

 

She grumbles something then waddles off, carrying the bouquet tight.

 

 

 

"Would it really stay there forever?" Chris asks.

 

 

 

"Nah. But she doesn't need to know that."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Chris googles Mark Watney while getting ready in the morning.

 

 

 

His curiosity outweighs the feeling that he's being creepy. He types in Mark's name, shakes his head at himself, then clicks enter.

 

 

 

Pictures of Mark form a row at the top of the screen, followed by several headlines. Ares Three Mission Now Has a Confirmed Third Member. Astronaut Mark Watney Picked for Ares Three. Mark Watney Shares First Image of Full Crew on Twitter.

 

 

 

Chris scrolls down a little and sees a Wikipedia page, but decides against checking that out. He taps images and watches as pictures of Mark's face fill the screen. He clicks on the first one and scrolls through. Some are serious, pictures of Mark in his astronaut gear staring at the camera with a completely straight face. Others he's half-smiling or smirking, and in some behind-the-scene type pictures he's laughing. There are a few of the crew, all together, and Chris identifies each member and snorts at how calm and diligent they all look. He finds one of Mark giving Johanssen a piggy back ride, and another of Martinez doing bunny ears behind his head. He eventually stumbles on one that looks rather odd, a picture of Mark in sports gear, sweating and running on a treadmill. The link below takes him to a YouTube video, an advertisement for some sportswear company, and Chris cracks up.

 

 

 

Through more searching Chris finds out that Mark's the media relations guy, so he runs the YouTube channel, the Twitter account, and the Instagram page. On the YouTube channel there are several more videos of the crew, these much less formal, Mark holding a camcorder and talking to the crew, answering questions being sent in. The Twitter account is mostly Mark interacting with their followers, occasionally posting a joke or a selfie. There are lots of pictures and videos already on the relatively new Ares III Instagram page, and Chris looks at a few. One of them's of Vogel mixing something explosive, and when it explodes the container lights up and the crew claps. Another's taken from Johanssen's point of view, and she explains that Martinez and Watney are racing to see who can complete the obstacle course the fastest. Watney wins by a long shot, then falls on his face and hugs the floor.

 

 

 

Chris keeps looking around until he finds a picture from a photoshoot, by the looks of it. Mark smiles at the camera, a rainbow painted on his cheek. The picture's from an article titled "First Openly Gay Astronaut Chosen for Ares Three."

 

 

 

Chris's breath catches and he clicks on it. The picture at the top is of Mark sitting on a table with a rainbow blanket hanging around his neck like a scarf, head thrown back in a laugh. His crew stands or sits around him, Johanssen and Vogel in back throwing colorful confetti and Lewis with her arm around his shoulders. Martinez grins from Watney's other side, holding Mark's hand up in the air like a fist pump. Casal sits farthest away, but looks around Lewis at Mark and Martinez, wearing a genuine grin.

 

 

 

"It was announced only a month ago that Mark Watney would be joining the Ares III crew. Ever since, the LBGTQ+ community has been rallying around NASA's first openly gay astronaut."

 

 

 

A picture of Mark wearing a rainbow space suit and looking like he's trying hard not to laugh follows the first semi-paragraph.

 

 

 

The rest of the article commends Mark for being open and honest about his sexuality, and has several quotes from LBGT teens who have been inspired. There are several quotes from the crew, and a few cute pictures at the bottom of them all in different poses, always happy and smiling.

 

 

 

Chris can't help but feel warm and fuzzy, and when he sees Mark later he pulls him into a hug before he can get a word out.

 

 

 

"What was that for?" Mark asks, pulling back.

 

 

 

"I googled you."

 

 

 

"That's not creepy."

 

 

 

"No, I meant- well, I found that article about you being the first openly gay astronaut."

 

 

 

Mark tilts his head almost shyly, elbows resting on his knees. "Yeah?"

 

 

 

"The photoshoot was cute."

 

 

 

"Wasn't it?" Mark says, eyes wide. "That was probably the most fun two hours of my life."

 

 

 

"It looked fun."

 

 

 

Mark smiles and pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands. "You get fired yet?"

 

 

 

"That's a terrible question. Not yet, no."

 

 

 

"Good. Look, if your boss finds out somehow, I'll put in a good word. People listen to astronauts."

 

 

 

Mark buys a few bouquets and pays nearly six times their worth, then tells Chris to keep the change.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They have their first official date on a Wednesday. Mark calls at seven thirty and says, "Can you meet me at Sully's in a half hour?"

 

 

 

"I'd love to," Chris says, before remembering he's got work. He sighs. "But... I've got work."

 

 

 

"Oh, fuck work, Chris."

 

 

 

"We're supposed to stay open until 8:30."

 

 

 

"Yeah, and do you really expect to get any customers?"

 

 

 

Chris sighs. "Fine."

 

 

 

"Yeah! Awesome. Sully's at eight?"

 

 

 

"I'll be there."

 

 

 

Chris drives to Sully's and parks, before going inside and seeing Mark waiting at a booth.

 

 

 

The date goes well. Mark's funny and charming, as always, and Chris doesn't think he's as awkward or embarrassing as he usually is.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Astronaut Mark Watney Has a Boyfriend."

 

 

 

Chris reads the headline again and again, then scrolls and sees a picture of them in the restaurant, taken from another customer's iPhone. The photo was originally posted on Twitter, with the caption, "I'm eating at Sully's and I can see Astronaut @MarkRWatney on a date!"

 

 

 

Speculation rose, people sending messages of support and love to Mark, but asking again and again who the mystery man was. To most of these tweets, Mark responded with the winking emoji.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next day Chris sits waiting for Mark. Mark comes in, holds up a hand and says, "Heads up: it's about to get-"

 

 

 

And before he has time to finish, his crewmates push through the door, all talking at once.

 

 

 

Lewis waves and Johanssen says, "Hey!"

 

 

 

Martinez and Casal are bickering about something, and Vogel's telling Lewis a story. They make their way to the register and Mark says, "Sorry to pop in. I told them I had to be here at five and they, uh, wanted to meet you, so I-"

 

 

 

"It's fine," Chris says, thankful for the company.

 

 

 

Martinez takes Mark's baseball cap, but Mark snatches it back with a swift arm movement and a laugh. Martinez turns to steal it again but Mark passes it to Lewis, who pulls her ponytail through it and glares. Martinez seems to consider reaching for it, but she says, "You really want to do that?" and he makes a face and backs away.

 

 

 

"So... Chris!" Casal says. "We've heard lots about this little shop of yours."

 

 

 

Martinez nods. "Mark doesn't shut up about it," he quips, and Mark elbows him.

 

 

 

"It is nice," Vogel says, looking around. "I like that walls are painted with flowers."

 

 

 

Chris smiles and plays with his jacket zipper.

 

 

 

"Do you like jokes?" Martinez asks.

 

 

 

Chris raises an eyebrow, and the crew groans. Johanssen puts her head in her hands, Lewis mutters, "Dear God, Martinez," and Vogel whispers, "Just say no. Say no, Chris."

 

 

 

Chris looks to Mark, doing something on his phone and offering no help, then shrugs. "Sure, I guess."

 

 

 

Casal sighs and Vogel looks like he wants to slam his head through a wall.

 

 

 

"What do you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?"

 

 

 

Chris opens his mouth to say, "What?" but he's interrupted by Johanssen saying, "A stick. It's a stick, Martinez."

 

 

 

"Why you gotta ruin the joke, Johanssen? Do you like being a killjoy?"

 

 

 

"Actually, yeah, I do."

 

 

 

Mark puts his phone down and shakes his head. "Did he just tell the stick joke?"

 

 

 

"Yeah," Casal says. "And he fucked it up, too."

 

 

 

"I didn't fuck it up! Johanssen fucked it up!"

 

 

 

Johanssen's laugh is quiet and airy and she covers her mouth with a small hand. Vogel snorts and Lewis can't keep from grinning. "I'm going to be in charge of these people for two years," Lewis says. "Two years."

 

 

 

"I- I'm sorry," Chris says.

 

 

 

"Me too," she replies.

 

 

 

"Alright, guys. Disperse. Buy flowers." Mark points to the aisles.

 

 

 

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Johanssen says. Martinez nods and they all go and return holding various flowers and bouquets.

 

 

 

By the time they leave, he's got nearly a thousand dollars and everyone's phone number.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It goes on like this. Eventually Mark drags Chris along to a meeting and tells the media they're dating, and this is Chris, and please leave him alone, I know we're cute but please just let him live.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He runs into Mark and Lewis at a Starbucks, one morning. He's ordering when he turns around and sees the two of them at a table in the corner, Mark talking very passionately about something, arms waving.

 

 

 

Chris debates leaving, saving himself from any awkwardness, but ultimately finds himself taking a seat beside Mark. Lewis says, "Hey."

 

 

 

Mark leans over and pecks him on the lips, then takes a sip of his drink. "Good morning!"

 

 

 

"Morning," Chris says, nodding. "I, uh, well you know what I was telling you about my sister?"

 

 

 

Mark smiles and looks like he's about to say something, but then he stands and says, "Sorry, Chris. I'll be right back."

 

 

 

Chris feels his heart speed up, because he doesn't know Lewis well, and he watches Mark dart off to a pregnant woman in line, holding a ton of grocery bags and struggling.

 

 

 

Lewis turns, too, and Chris sees in her smile an almost maternal fondness. "That's Watney, for you."

 

 

 

Mark takes the bags from the pregnant woman and holds them while she goes through her wallet, and somehow he's already started a conversation with her.

 

 

 

"Yeah," Chris agrees.

 

 

 

"The other day he was late to a meeting because he saw a worm on the street and had to help it cross."

 

 

 

"That sounds about right."

 

 

 

Mark runs back to the table, holding the bags, and says, "I'll be right back. Carrying these bags to her car."

 

 

 

Lewis does a thumbs up and he leaves again. She laughs, then says, "He's a really good guy. And he likes you a lot. I swear, every time he comes back from your shop I've never seen him happier."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Mark's crewmates drop by sometimes, or call, by themselves or with one or two of the others. They call, text, and he gets to know them. Johanssen shows up out of the blue, once, Lewis at her side. They come to the counter.

 

 

 

"Hi," he says.

 

 

 

"What's up, Chris?" Lewis asks, pushing her hair behind her ears.

 

 

 

Johanssen squints at him. "Is that a hickey?" she asks, tilting her head to get a better view of his neck, eyes crinkled with restrained laughter.

 

 

 

Chris pulls his collar up. "Did you come here to pester me about my sex life, or do you want something?"

 

 

 

Lewis has a laugh like the cracking of fire, and when Johanssen turns she raises an eyebrow. "Sex life, huh," Johanssen says, leaning forward on her elbows. "Please, do tell me more."

 

 

 

"No. No, no."

 

 

 

"You're ridiculous." Lewis shakes her head at Johanssen, then blinks and adds, "We just came here to talk."

 

 

 

"About?"

 

 

 

"Well, nothing in particular, b-"

 

 

 

"So you're just... here to hang out?"

 

 

 

"Hey, I passed up my nap hour to come here," Johanssen says.

 

 

 

"I'm honored. Really. I just mean I'm- I'm surprised you guys just came here unprompted. Did Mark put you up to this?"

 

 

 

"Mark? God, no. He's been doing conferences all morning, and now, I, uh, believe he's passed out on the couch in the break room."

 

 

 

Chris smiles.

 

 

 

"So," Johanssen says, climbing the counter. "Mark tells me you've got a cat named Katy Purry?"

 

 

 

"What is it with you astronauts and sitting on my counter?" Chris mutters. "And yeah, Katy Purry. Not my idea."

 

 

 

"I love it, though," Johanssen says. "My brother's got a cat named Cat Damon."

 

 

 

"That's even better."

 

 

 

The three of them talk for a while, about the mission and the crew and Mark, and the weirdest pet names they've ever come across. Before they go, Lewis stands up straight and says, "I know you really care about Mark, and you're probably in knots over him going to space, but I want- I want to tell you, I promise I'll bring him home safe and sound."

 

 

 

Chris looks into her eyes and sees concern and a mind plagued with thoughts and feelings of stress, always five steps ahead. "Thank you. That really does mean a lot."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As their schedule gets more packed closer to the mission, he sees them less and less. Sometimes he doesn't hear from Mark for several days.

 

 

 

A few weeks before takeoff, Vogel's family throws a going away party. They invite the whole crew and anyone they choose to bring. Chris meets the crewmates' families and enjoys spending time with Mark.

 

 

 

Mark brings his dog, Rover, over to Chris's house and asks Chris to care for him during the mission.

 

 

 

The day Mark's set to leave, he gives Chris some money and says, "So you can stay in business until I get back," even though his shop's gotten more popular since people found out about the two of them.

 

 

 

Mark kisses Chris and holds him tight, whispers in his ear, "See you in two years."

 

 

 

"Be safe out there," Chris says.

 

 

 

"I'm always safe." Chris feels Mark smile against his neck. "Take care of yourself. And Rover. And that cute little shop of yours."

 

 

 

Chris nods and chokes back tears, and watches as they all head off. Johanssen gives him a nod and a smile, and the others wave, at their families and at him.

 

 

 

He watches their livestream a few hours later, then watches as they take to the sky.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Astronaut Mark Watney is dead.

 

 

 

Astronaut Mark Watney is dead.

 

 

 

Astronaut Mark Watney... is dead.

 

 

 

Chris stands behind the counter at work, reading the headline on his phone. He makes a strangled noise and one of the girls shopping in the third aisle says, "What's wrong?"

 

 

 

Chris reads it again and again, and the girl comes closer and sees what he's looking at.

 

 

 

"Oh my God." She covers her mouth.

 

 

 

He closes up and speeds home, throws on the news and watches as the report unfolds. "No. No, no, no. He can't be."

 

 

Mark's face fills the screen. 

 

 

Dead dead dead.

 

 

Chris falls back on the couch and holds a pillow to his chest, rocking back and forth. 

 

 

"Astronaut Mark Watney confirmed dead on Mars."

 

 

"-decompression-"

 

 

"-the antennae hit him and he-"

 

 

"-his biomonitor showed no signs of-"

 

 

Chris remembers calling Mark only a few days earlier, talking about the shop and space and how close they were to Mars, so close.

 

 

"Fuck Mars," Chris says into the pillow as his tears turn it from dark green to oblivion black. "Fuck Mars." 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He gets emails from the crew, each sending their condolences. At the end of Lewis's, she says, "It was my job to keep him safe. I'm so sorry." He wants to tell her it's not her fault, but he knows she won't listen.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Chris finds out he's alive via the reporters staking out in his front yard. He opens the door and microphons ambush him, one things repeated over and over, clear enough for him to hear. "Mark Watney's alive."

 

 

"How do you feel about Mark Watney being alive on Mars?"  asks one of the reporters.

 

 

"I don't-"

 

 

"Chris Beck! Over here! What was your initial reaction to-"

 

 

Chris closes the door and takes a deep breath, runs to the TV and turns it on. He calls Mitch next, and he picks up on the second ring.

 

 

"Was just about to call you," Mitch says.

 

 

"What's going on?"

 

 

The TV comes on, and the headline reads, Mark Watney Alive on Mars. 

 

 

"He's alive, Chris. We're not sure how, but... yeah. Alive."

 

 

Chris cries, tears of joy and worry, tears of everything on the spectrum of emotion. Mark's  face on the screen and he's alive.

 

 

Alive alive alive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Mark gets home, he goes straight to the hospital. PT, testing, all kinds of things required of someone stuck on a deserted planet for two years. They talk on the phone, but he's not sure when he gets out.

 

 

Months after Mark's return, Chris stands behind the counter and sees the time. Five o'clock. He smiles to himself, then stands up straight as the bell over the door rings. A few other customers look up and exchange whispers, one girl claps, and Chris blinks back tears because it's Mark.

 

 

Mark picks up a rose as he walks to the counter, sets it down and says, "What's my total?"

 

 

Chris covers his mouth and Mark's grinning. 

 

 

"Mark..."

 

 

"Christopher."

 

 

"You're here."

 

 

"I am."

 

 

"The, um, the rose is fifty cents."

 

 

"Here's a dollar," Mark says. He lifts the rose, climbs the counter, and tucks in behind Chris's ear. "For you."

 

 

"Oh my God." Chris shakes his head and Mark pulls him close. "Never leave me again, you got it?" Chris says.

 

 

Mark laughs. "I'll try my best."

**Author's Note:**

> okay this was a blast to write, but it's really rushed and you can probably tell. i'm trying to get two fics done before school starts, so i can write some of my own stories/poems and practice at those for my auditions. anyway sorry for any grammatical issues or rushed scenes! beckwatney's a cute ship and i'm glad i found this prompt :)


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